the kindness of strangers
in the London underground, two women limp, side by side on the escalator, halted by its
mechanical hand. are you hurt? one asks, a flicker of grin, a shared plight. no just tired
oh and my thigh. a golden accent, the stunning perfection of the consonants of a southern continent. life is tiring. yes she says but we do not want to die. yes we want to see our children grown. yes, and our grandchildren. slow steps, breathing almost in sync, the climb, and through the airy space, the mechanical fingers on the wheel again, down into the grind, whisking away this random moment that has placed us here, a few shared seconds of life, but only until the machine starts rolling. good luck to you, and - to you too!- here is to the child you have so been wanting, to those twenty years, to what keeps us here.